Ikhide Ikheloa bravely tackles the subject of sexuality and sex among Africans; a subject(s) which some would prefer were discussed in private or when it comes to children and young adults, never.
Real writers are frustrated these days because no one reads them anymore, we all prefer to read real non-writers telling us lies about their wretched lives and posting air-brushed selfies of their wretched selves on social media.
An African proverb says that thanks to Photoshop, pictures now lie a lot. Seriously, I love social media, that playground where everyone is a writer. All you need is a used Nokia and you are a writer. I love it. I cannot get enough of the drama of Twitter and Facebook. You never know what your eyes will see on their e-pages. It is a war out there, a lovely riot of colorful words and colorful characters.
Welcome to the 21st century. Today’s classroom is wireless and shuns walls. Seriously, I don’t hang around social media for the “likes” and “retweets” and the beautiful ladies, I go there to get an education. If you don’t know what “likes” and retweets” are, you are hereby excused. Don’t worry about it, leave my column and go read a newspaper at that stand by the woman that sells boli and fried fish. Come back next week, and I will talk about pounded yam and ogbono.
So, there are many deep thinkers on Twitter and they ask really profound questions. The other day, one of them observed that white people are very sophisticated people, Evidence, sex for oyinbo people is a very complicated affair where the men endure a lot of changes just to get some (sex). The rituals include sweet talk, chocolate, flowers, and if the man is lucky, there is the kiss after which the woman finally succumbs to his one goal in life – which is to have sex with her.
After the kiss, there are several other rituals that must happen in bed, the missionary position being the least. I would describe these graphic rituals except that this is a family column and my teenage son doubles as my editor. Teenagers don’t believe old people know anything about sex and when they think about old people having sex they tend to throw up in disgust.
Anyway, after this young person on Twitter shared her profound observation that white people are very romantic compared to Africans who approach sex as if they are weeding a cassava farm – you know, let’s just get her done, she finally mused aloud: Did Africans kiss before the coming of the white man?
The short answer is, NO, we did not kiss until the white man came to Africa. The white man brought the kiss to Africa, along with chocolates, flowers and divorces. There is no word for kiss in my language. You will recall that hilarious passage in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart where Obierika was pointing and laughing at a white couple on television kissing and groping each other. He thought the white man had a strange way of fighting: “Why, Okonkwo, we settle these matters with a gun! Tufiakwa!”
It is great that the white man introduced kissing to our wretched lives. Nothing is more refreshing than a great kiss from your spouse after a tough day hoeing the farm. When I first came to America I had never kissed anyone before. My first date was a disaster, she wanted me to take her out to eat. She called it a date, she ate a lot. Of course she was built to eat, you should have seen her. Thank God she didn’t live in Africa, she could have caused a famine all by herself, her appetite would put a herd of African elephants to shame.
I spent most of my school fees on her that night at McDonalds. She was so impressed, she made a move to kiss me, “You are so cute, you lovable African, come here you, let me sup you up with a biscuit!” I fled and changed my email addresses and cellphone numbers and would not respond to her whatsapp texts. That was in 1982. She still texts me to this day. #StalkerAlert
The other day, someone asked again on Facebook if there is an African word for love. What is it about people and “Africa”? Is Africa a country? My village is a collection of many tiny nations, not to talk of Africa. I don’t know about Africa, there is no word for love in my village. What does it matter, do you need words to demonstrate your feelings for a loved one? It is a feeling, and you know it. The eyes tell you about love. I see you. I love you. Yes you. Ehen, let me tell all of you, I have two daughters, they will fall in love and they will be showered with love, chocolates, flowers and dollars, IJN. Anybody that comes near them and says bullcrap about how there are no words for love and chocolates and flowers and dollars in his village will know that cutlass is a strong sharp word where I come from. If I see you enh, my cutlass will fall in love with your yansh. Nonsense.
Ikhide R. Ikheloa writes for various online media and in his blog. Ikheloa is notorious for having strong opinions about the literature of Africa. He refuses to write a book because he stubbornly insists that the book is dying a long slow death.
Think it is important? Share with your friends! Real writers are frustrated these days because no one reads them anymore, we all prefer to read real non-writers telling us lies about their wretched lives and posting air-brushed selfies of their wretched selves on social media.
An African proverb says that thanks to Photoshop, pictures now lie a lot. Seriously, I love social media, that playground where everyone is a writer. All you need is a used Nokia and you are a writer. I love it. I cannot get enough of the drama of Twitter and Facebook. You never know what your eyes will see on their e-pages. It is a war out there, a lovely riot of colorful words and colorful characters.
Welcome to the 21st century. Today’s classroom is wireless and shuns walls. Seriously, I don’t hang around social media for the “likes” and “retweets” and the beautiful ladies, I go there to get an education. If you don’t know what “likes” and retweets” are, you are hereby excused. Don’t worry about it, leave my column and go read a newspaper at that stand by the woman that sells boli and fried fish. Come back next week, and I will talk about pounded yam and ogbono.
So, there are many deep thinkers on Twitter and they ask really profound questions. The other day, one of them observed that white people are very sophisticated people, Evidence, sex for oyinbo people is a very complicated affair where the men endure a lot of changes just to get some (sex). The rituals include sweet talk, chocolate, flowers, and if the man is lucky, there is the kiss after which the woman finally succumbs to his one goal in life – which is to have sex with her.
After the kiss, there are several other rituals that must happen in bed, the missionary position being the least. I would describe these graphic rituals except that this is a family column and my teenage son doubles as my editor. Teenagers don’t believe old people know anything about sex and when they think about old people having sex they tend to throw up in disgust.
Anyway, after this young person on Twitter shared her profound observation that white people are very romantic compared to Africans who approach sex as if they are weeding a cassava farm – you know, let’s just get her done, she finally mused aloud: Did Africans kiss before the coming of the white man?
The short answer is, NO, we did not kiss until the white man came to Africa. The white man brought the kiss to Africa, along with chocolates, flowers and divorces. There is no word for kiss in my language. You will recall that hilarious passage in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart where Obierika was pointing and laughing at a white couple on television kissing and groping each other. He thought the white man had a strange way of fighting: “Why, Okonkwo, we settle these matters with a gun! Tufiakwa!”
It is great that the white man introduced kissing to our wretched lives. Nothing is more refreshing than a great kiss from your spouse after a tough day hoeing the farm. When I first came to America I had never kissed anyone before. My first date was a disaster, she wanted me to take her out to eat. She called it a date, she ate a lot. Of course she was built to eat, you should have seen her. Thank God she didn’t live in Africa, she could have caused a famine all by herself, her appetite would put a herd of African elephants to shame.
I spent most of my school fees on her that night at McDonalds. She was so impressed, she made a move to kiss me, “You are so cute, you lovable African, come here you, let me sup you up with a biscuit!” I fled and changed my email addresses and cellphone numbers and would not respond to her whatsapp texts. That was in 1982. She still texts me to this day. #StalkerAlert
The other day, someone asked again on Facebook if there is an African word for love. What is it about people and “Africa”? Is Africa a country? My village is a collection of many tiny nations, not to talk of Africa. I don’t know about Africa, there is no word for love in my village. What does it matter, do you need words to demonstrate your feelings for a loved one? It is a feeling, and you know it. The eyes tell you about love. I see you. I love you. Yes you. Ehen, let me tell all of you, I have two daughters, they will fall in love and they will be showered with love, chocolates, flowers and dollars, IJN. Anybody that comes near them and says bullcrap about how there are no words for love and chocolates and flowers and dollars in his village will know that cutlass is a strong sharp word where I come from. If I see you enh, my cutlass will fall in love with your yansh. Nonsense.
Ikhide Ikheloa
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